Delayed
by Tynesider
Summary: The Breezebuilders of Breeze Harbour have long managed to repel the Land Blubbers of Zephyr, but now the invaders have a new, dangerous ally on their side. And after missing their ticket home Spyro and Sparx are caught in the middle of it.
1. Chapter 1

"Faster!"

With claws clacking noisily on the brick below Spyro ran, tearing through the streets with a blatant disregard for safety that saw locals press themselves into the walls to avoid what would definitely be a nasty collision.

"It's not much further, we can still make it!"

At his side a glimmer of gold nodded and beat his wings faster, reducing the sight of him to a thin wisp as he flew by. He felt the miniscule muscles in his back roar their discontent at his effort, but silencing them was easy when he had motivation. Who knew that disgruntlement at a friend's poor timekeeping was such an excellent fuel?

They skidded around a corner and took off down the harbour road. At their side lay the endless expanse of darkness that Breeze Harbour stretched out into, and within it sat various Sky Boats, big and small, winged and sailed, but all seemingly floating on nothing. Amidst the starry blue sky and the gentle streetlights they were a sight to behold, but they didn't have time for sightseeing.

"Pier one, two, three…" Spyro counted, catching the smallest of small glimpses at the signs as he sped past. "Four, five, six…" He stole a glance up at the clock tower. Time was ticking away. "Seven…eight!"

He jerked around to follow the line of the pier, tearing chunks out of the brick as he did so. Unlike its companions pier eight faced not out towards open sky but onto a rocky wall. A wall which provided a background to a small portal filled with the gentle pastel colours of autumn.

"Yes!" Spyro cheered. With a speedy stumble he ran and leapt for the portal, Sparx clinging to his back to keep up with him, but as the portal's hues filled his eyes he didn't notice the clock tower. The clock tower that ticked to nine and tolled the hour, and as the bell chimed the portal's colours disintegrated.

He didn't realise his failure until after he passed through the portal's empty gate, and his disappointment was immediately vanquished by pain as he clattered into the cliff face behind him.

"Ow!" he moaned, crumpling into a heap as the impact rocked his nerve endings. Then the bell tolled again and they stung even more. Sullenly, he dragged himself to his feet and looked back, through the empty portal gate and at the stark white face of the clock tower. Nine PM. Portal switch-off time, and he had missed it.

"Ah," he said, clenching his eyes shut as he waited for what would inevitably happen next, and sure enough he heard the buzzing of a dragonfly in his ear.

"Bzz! Bzz bz bzbzzz bzz!" Sparx shouted.

"Sorry, buddy," Spyro said. It was the only thing he could say.

"Bzz bz bz!"

"I know, it was my fault."

"Bzz bzzzzzz bzz bz!"

"Hey, it wasn't intentional, I just thought we had time for ice cream, and it turns out we didn't. I'm sorry, I should have listened to you." He sighed, "Oh well. Looks like we're stuck here."

"Bzz bzz."

"Are we not?"

"Bzz bzz bz!"

"Hey, no need to take that tone with me!"

"Bzz bzzz bz bzz bzbzzz!"

"Alright, I'm sorry. Now please tell me how we can get home."

Sparx extended a spindly arm into the distance, pointing towards one of the Sky Boats nestling in the harbour.

"They go to Autumn Plains?"

"Bz."

"How do you know that?"

Sparx frowned and pointed to a poster stuck no more than twenty yards from them, all bright colours and explanation marks. It sang the praises of a cheap Sky Boat service to Autumn Plains.

"Ah," Spyro said, blushing slightly, "Yeah, I really should be more observant."

"Bzz bz."

"Uh-huh," Spyro said, shaking his head. "Well, it looks like all the piers are full so hopefully there's a boat going to depart soon. Where do we need to go?"

"Bzz bzzzbzbzz."

"The terminal. Got it."

With an awkward gait Spyro began to walk, moving unevenly as his bruised body protested. Sparx moved to follow, but suddenly swerved to the side to pass through the empty portal. He looked up at its vacant arch as he passed through, and spun around to look at it again afterwards. It looked so barren and useless without its colour, a fancy piece of artwork that served no purpose other than to waste materials. He'd never seen a portal reduced to such obsoleteness before, but then he'd always been good at keeping time. He looked over his shoulder to glance the hobbling Spyro, and pressed his hand into his face.

"Bz bzz!" he muttered, then fluttered after him.

* * *

**So, a new story at last, and this time I've broken it up into parts to keep you all waiting! :D**

**I will, hand on heart, admit that this isn't the most engaging opening chapter one could write, but trust me, it gets better (if I say so myself XD). After all, they're stuck in Breeze Harbour, a place where Land Blubbers are constantly causing havoc... :/**

**Comments are, as always, greatly appreciated. :)**


	2. Chapter 2

The terminal was not a unique building. With its brick and slate and meaningless belfry it blended into Breeze Harbour perfectly, but what it lacked in originality it made up for in size. Spyro and Sparx couldn't help but crane their necks as they wound their way up towards it, tilting their eyes back to glance the gleaming tip of its spire as it speared the night.

"Woah," Spyro said. Sparx buzzed in agreement.

They reached the top of the hill and stepped into a plaza. There were many gathered around its fountain and perusing its market stalls, but around one side curved the entrance to the terminal, and beside its doorway curved an equally wide line of travellers.

"Great," Spyro moaned, but his whines were lost on Sparx's frustrated ear. He fluttered across the yard and over to the line, taking his place at the back of it and nodding firmly to Spyro. He opened his mouth to argue, but a furious buzz from the dragonfly snatched away his words, and reluctantly he scuttled to join him in the queue.

* * *

"Can't you wait…"

"Bz!"

"I can get you…"

"Bz!"

"I won't be long…"

"Bz!"

"You're better with…"

"Bz!"

"C'mon, buddy…"

"Bz!"

Spyro sighed and looked out longingly to the plaza. He couldn't see a miserable face in sight. People enjoying rare delicacies at specialist stalls; couples canoodling by the fountain; a busker drawing in a crowd with her velvet voice, it was all in stark contrast to the queue he was stood in. He had long ago forgotten how long they'd been in line, but it had clearly been a while, and he was irked. Sparx was irked, and judging by the body language of the pelican in front he was irked too. He needed a break from standing on sore feet, but Sparx wasn't going to let him go anywhere. After the trouble he had caused they would both suffer if it killed him.

"I'll bring you back a jar of butterflies," he said hopefully, but Sparx didn't rise to his bait.

"Mealworms?"

"Bz."

"A candy apple?"

"Bz."

"Come on, will you just let me have a look?"

"Kid, will you just shut up?"

Spyro recoiled as the pelican in front spun around and glared at him through bloodshot eyes.

"You aren't going into the market, so put a lid on it!" he ordered, "All you've done for the last hour is moan and whine, and I and everyone else in this queue is sick of it! We're all in the same boat, but none of us are moaning about it, so shut up, wait your turn and give us some peace!"

A few cheers of support rose into the air, and as Spyro stood silently a few people clapped. A blush tinted his cheeks and he looked to the ground, scratching the brick with a sullen claw.

"Sorry," he whispered. Sparx buzzed approvingly.

He lost track of time again. People came and went, the fountain bubbled and the market hissed, and slowly the queue shuffled forward. The moon rose higher and higher into the night and he watched it as his feet went from sore to agonising to numb, but eventually it disappeared as the terminal's wall covered his head and pushed him towards a disgruntled pelican sat behind a desk.

"Next," she said. Spyro stole a quick glance around to check if what was happening was real. It was, and with a smile he approached the desk. "What d'you need?" she asked.

"Erm…tickets to Autumn Plains."

"How many?"

"Do dragonflies get a discount?"

"No."

"Two then."

"One way or return?"

"One way."

"Six-hundred, please."

Spyro blinked.

"Sorry?"

"Six-hundred."

Spyro bit his lip.

"How much do we have?" he asked Sparx. The dragonfly shook his head. Nervously, he retrieved his wallet and emptied it onto the desk. The pelican looked at him contemptuously, then sifted through the pile. They watched as she separated the gems into quantities and tallied them up, and to their relief she pushed five back towards them and ripped two tickets from a reel.

"Lucky boys," she grunted, "You've just enough, so don't expect to have a coffee on the journey."

"Okay," Spyro nodded, taking his change and the tickets, "Thanks. What time does the boat depart?"

"Scheduled nine-thirty, but it's been delayed by an hour due to technical problems."

Spyro was halfway around her desk by the time he realised what she had said, and as her words sunk in he froze solid.

"Delayed?" He scuttled back around to face her, "You wait until you've sold me the tickets to tell me that?"

"Company policy," she shrugged.

"That's a disgrace!"

"You're not the first person to tell me that tonight," she sighed, "So that isn't going to change anything. You've bought the tickets, bud, so if you want to go home then get into the terminal and sit it out like everyone else."

Spyro glared at her for a moment longer, but then a furious buzz and a prod in the back saw him slink away.

The terminal's interior was a glowing tribute to conformity. Identical rows of identical chairs occupied by people with identical expressions. Creatures of all kind reclined into the wafer-thin cushions, mostly pelicans with a handful of hippos and fauns thrown in for good measure, but all carried the same look of discontent on their lips, and as Spyro settled himself into a chair he instinctively joined them.

"Sorry," he said again as Sparx settled himself on the armrest.

"Bzzbz."

"I know," he said. He glanced hopefully at the station clock. 40 seconds had passed. "I want to go home," he whined.

"Bzz bzz bz bzzbz."

"Please don't start on that again."

"Bzzbzzbz."

"Well what do you want me to do about it?"

"Bzz bz bzzz!"

"Well I've learned my lesson," Spyro huffed, "Now can you just leave it? I made a mistake and I know it, so stop bringing it up."

"Bzz bz."

Time slowed again. He watched fellow disgruntled passengers scuttle around through increasingly sleepy eyes and managed to strike up the briefest of conversations with a faun, but when he turned his eyes up to the clock it had ticked not much closer to its departure time. He groaned and peered across the terminal, out to the arched glass doors that opened onto the pier where the boat nestled. The damn thing looked fine! Wings primed, bow sturdy, its roof a sea of completed tile. What on Earth was wrong with it? Something, evidently, as at that moment he saw a pinprick walk along its deck. He strained his eyes but saw no more detail, but guessed it to be a maintenance worker, and he grunted. For someone assigned to fix the ship he didn't appear very industrious. He merely walked from aft to stern over and over again, going nowhere near the ship's cabins or buildings or even its wings.

"Typical," he muttered to himself, "We're all stuck in here and he doesn't care. If I could I'd give him some motivation..."

The gears in his brain whirred, and a thin smile spread across his lips. He looked down to Sparx. He was fast asleep, snoring into his hands. He gently leaned into his ears and whispered,

"Don't worry, buddy, I'll do something about it."

He crept down from his seat and scuttled across the terminal, keeping himself low until he approached the doors. They squeaked slightly as he nudged them with his shoulder, but everyone was too enveloped in their own misery to notice him slip out onto the pier.

* * *

Screwy glanced over his checklist again, then looked back at the boat. He shook his head. What a sorry state it was in, but he was hardly surprised. They worked the poor machine far too hard with too little maintenance in order to keep the costs down, and finally it had caved and completely malfunctioned. He didn't know where to begin with it, and he certainly didn't know how he'd clean up all that mess in an hour, but if he wanted to go home with a wage he was going to have to find a way.

He made his way over to the bow and opened a hatch to reveal the stabiliser beneath, its numerous cogs worn and striped. He sighed once again, then reached into his overalls and pulled out a small can of oil. He tore it open and tilted it towards the cogs, his brow hardening in concentration. It was vital he poured just the right amount. Too little meant poor steering; too much meant over-sensitive steering. Both carried disastrous consequences. He could live with docked wages, but his wife couldn't, and her shrill whine in his ear was far worse than any accident report. He bit his beak tightly together, and tilted a little further. A droplet spilled over and dangled off the edge of the can. Perfect. He smiled and tilted a little more.

"Hey!"

The shock jerked his arm, and he watched helplessly as the gears were drenched in oil. He knelt there frowning, then rammed his wings to push himself upright and stormed in the direction of the voice. He leaned over the boat and down onto the pier below, where a little blot of purple stood.

"Hello," it said.

"What?" Screwy barked. He could already hear his wife in his ears.

"I was just wondering how you're doing fixing this boat."

"What's it to you?"

"Well, I'm really keen to get home..."

Another fuse in Screwy's head blew.

"You're a passenger?" he snapped.

"Yes I am."

Screwy slapped the wood with a fierce blow of his wing.

"Are you alright?" the blot said. Screwy glared at him for a moment, then stomped over to the gangplank and descended onto the pier. On the same level he saw the wings and horns of a dragon, but his brain was engorged on anger and unable to register any fear he should have felt.

"No, I'm not," Screwy said. He approached Spyro and knelt down, leaning into his face. "And do you know why?"  
"Why?"

"Because once again I've been interrupted by another damn passenger," he snarled, "I've told them over and over again to fit a lock on that door, but they never listen, and as a result I'm harassed by idiots like you who think they know better than I do every time something goes wrong."

"All I wanted to say was..."

"Why say when you can do?" He plucked a spanner from his belt and pushed it into Spyro's paws, "Come on, wiseguy, seeing as you think I can't do it go and fix that boat. I'm sure you can do it twice as fast."

"Look, all I was going to say is that you could try and be a bit more hands-on, you know? It's just all I've seen you do is walk up and down..."  
Screwy sneered.

"You know why I'm doing that? To check the ship's balance so that you don't plummet to your death while it's in flight. I'm surprised you didn't know that, considering your superior technical knowledge. Anyway, people are waiting, so go up there and fix that ship."

He gestured to the gangplank. Spyro looked at it, then back to Screwy's leer, and his face flushed. Screwy nodded knowingly.

"You can't fix it, can you?"

"No."

"I thought so," he said, snatching the spanner back, "Just like every other dope who comes out here. Look kid, the world doesn't revolve around you, so get back in there; drink a coffee, read a book, shout abuse at customer service if you really want, but don't you dare come out here and tell me how to do my job! Understand?"

"Yes," Spyro whispered.

"What was that?"

"Yes," Spyro said louder. Screwy nodded.

"Good," he said. He stood up and started to walk, "And thanks to you, I've lost five minutes of working time. Congrats, kid, you've delayed your departure even longer."

Spyro frowned at him as he walked away, but he only moved when Screwy saw him again and jabbed at the terminal doors. With a sullen look on his face he turned and began to slink towards the terminal, but behind it burned a growing contempt.

"What a jerk," he said, pushing the doors open with his snout. Thirty metres away, Screwy said exactly the same thing.

* * *

**So, now we get to the 'Delayed' part of the story! :D I thought I'd give Breeze Harbour something a bit less industrial as that's all it seems to be in the game. In a way it makes me think of NCL, what with the whole port town thing and all, only the key difference is that Breeze Harbour actually has industry. :(**

**Anyway, *adopts whimsical storyteller voice* Spyro's stuck and now he's made an enemy of Screwy the mechanic! Whatever will happen next? *normal* you'll find out when I can be bothered. :D**

**Reviews are, as always, appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

The hands of the clock rolled on, and as they did passengers began to drop. They fell limp in their seats, some with arms and legs splayed and others curled into balls. Some lay across several seats, resting their heads in the laps of loved ones, and some squeezed onto the metal strut of an armrest, but all were asleep. All except one.

Spyro shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He was sleepy, but even with his head dipped by fatigue there was no chance of sleeping here. How anyone could sleep on the itchy upholstery was a mystery to him, and the infernal snore of the pelican in the seat next to him didn't help things either. He sighed and rested his head on his arms, and closed his eyes. The things he would give to be anywhere but here. Even Hurricos seemed appealing right now, but like everything else it was a dream that stood no chance of coming true any time soon.

He saw autumnal colours in his head, and he began to relax. He'd forgotten how nice Autumn Plains was. The clear skies; the crisp leaves; the cool, gentle breeze that rocked the towers, it was lovely. And Elora was waiting for him there too. A small smile spread on his lips. He could see her there, perched on the grass and tapping her hoof impatiently. He could picture the wind buffeting her auburn hair and blowing a gentle glisten into her eyes, reflecting the gentle sunlight to give her face a radiance that soothed his head. And then she looked at him, straight through the imaginary eyes through which he was seeing her, and with that cute frown on her face he had seen so many times before she spoke.

"Wake up, you dork!"

He shot up with a jolt, but he quivered with more intensity as he realised where he was, or rather where he hadn't moved from. Brick and chairs, centred around a torturous clock that had passed by two hours since he had last seen it. He sighed and rolled onto his side, curling up to squeeze onto the thin seat. He laid his head on the armrest, looking down it and out onto the prison wall beyond, but in the way sat a blot of yellow, snoring fitfully. He smiled as he watched the dragonfly's chest rise and fall, a familiar feeling of guilt building in his stomach. After all these years he was still putting up with him, even when he was losing out in things he had no say in, and while he rightly raised his voice to him every now and again he had never said no to a scheme or idea or distraction, and certainly never threatened to call it a day. No, he had always been at his side, through thick and thin and in sickness and in health, and once again he had led him into frustration.

"Sorry, bud," he whispered once again.

He slid his hands under his head and closed his eyes to join him in the land of nod, but as he settled the quiet night was pierced by noise. Three sharp sounds, tinny and crackling in the aged intercom, but very loud, and with a groan the people all around opened their eyes and wearily sat up.

"May I have your attention, please," the intercom said. Spyro recognised the heckled voice of the ticket seller, "Harbour Express SkyBoats regret to inform you that this evening's departure has been cancelled due to ongoing technical problems."

Moans and murmurs of anger swept through the terminal. On the armrest Sparx finally roused from his slumber, and looked up to see the silent but hopeless face of Spyro.

"All tickets purchased for this evening's voyage remain valid for the next departure, leaving at ten-thirty in the morning. In the meantime we regret to inform you that a shortage of staff means the terminal will have to be vacated until eight AM," more angry shouts from the floor, "Please contact reception for directions to nearby hotels."

The intercom buzzed then went silent, and with furious groans the travellers sleepily rose to their feet. Some charged to the desk to vent their frustrations; others examined maps of the area to try and find a bed for the night, but Spyro and Sparx sauntered out of the terminal without fuss.

The market was gone now, the fountain drained so that only leaves and loose change filled its pool. Even the streetlights had grown dimmer. Spyro examined it all with a mournful eye, then sullenly began to pick his way downwards. As he went he retrieved his wallet and examined the five gems within. He sighed.

"I'm not great with money, but I don't think this will buy us a room."

"Bzz…" Sparx said sleepily. He lay down between Spyro's horns and yawned. Spyro tilted his head to rock him.

"I'm sorry, buddy," he said once again, "This is all my fault."

"Bzz bzbzz."

"I know I can't help that, but we wouldn't be here if it weren't for me." He laughed hopelessly, "Stranded, tired and broke," he shook his head, "Well done, Spyro."

The road wound down the hill, carving a slope between two ledges. Perched on the top of one was a hotel, and on a whim Spyro changed direction and climbed up to it. The rates were posted on the door, and he only needed one look.

"A night under the stars it is," he announced.

They wandered through town for a while, hunting for a secluded corner or alleyway to settle down in, but as they searched it became clear that several other passengers had had the same idea. The Harbour was ripe with nooks and crannies shielded from the elements, but all were filled with dozing pelicans. The rock face, a wall of caves asking to be made into a home, was a cauldron of creatures, squeezed tightly together and growling as they accused their companions of hogging space.

"Hello?" Spyro called up to the caverns, "Is there any room?"

"Go away, kid!" was the only response he received, and it was enough to send him hurtling back into the streets.

The night wind was channelled between the buildings and blew his face numb, but it was his only option, and to his delight he spotted a small ledge, sheltered between two curving brick walls. He climbed onto it and settled down, nestling his head in his arms.

"I know it's not ideal," he said apologetically, the stiff wind finding them and sending shivers through their hides.

"Bzzz," Sparx grunted.

"I'm sorry."

"Bzz bzzbzbzzzz."

"I know," he sighed, "But you know I'll keep doing it. I'm sorry…see? There I go again."

"Bzz bzzz bzbz bzz bz."

"Yeah, you're right," he curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes, "G'night, Sparx."

"Bzzzzbzz."

* * *

_Squelch! Squelch!_

The Land Blubber did his best to silence his movements, but such a feat wasn't easy when you were entirely gelatinous. No matter how slowly he shuffled his innards shook and shivered and splashed, and it was making an infernal racket. He frowned. Espionage was hard enough without having your organs sloshing about inside of you.

He pressed himself to a wall, feeling his stomach bounce, and leaned across to peer through the archway. Cannons. He reached for his notebook and scribbled it down. He shuffled on, bouncing taller and shorter as he went, and stopped next to a mass of machinery. He hid behind a pipe and leaned out from it. A fire. He smiled and reached for the hose clipped to his belt. He aimed it and pulled the trigger, and the fire disappeared with a hiss and a puff of smoke. Excellent. Victory was imminent. Putting out the industrial fires was nothing new, but since the Leader had taken over they'd had a change of tactic. Taking out the SkyBoats seemed an impossible task before the Leader, but with his guidance they'd successfully sabotaged them, and with them gone and the fires out Breeze Harbour was at a standstill. Easy pickings for another Zephyr attack.

He shuffled down an alleyway, pressing himself into the wall to avoid the streetlight. His slime grated painfully over the brick, and he took his mind off it by reading the graffiti along the wall opposite. 'Blubbers go home!', 'No Surrender!', 'This Harbour is ours!' among many others. He smirked. How wrong those scribbles would be, and it wouldn't be long before they were proved wrong either…

The opposite wall suddenly stopped, giving way to a ledge, and the Blubber stopped. There was something on it. Purple, scaly, a crown of a dragonfly perched on its head; both fast asleep. He frowned at it, then his body quivered with excitement. That wasn't him, was it? The thing the Leader kept talking about that really riled him into a fury? He thought back, recalling whatever memories he could. Had he said it was purple? Yes, definitely. Scaly? He remembered him spitting the word 'dragon' with pure contempt, so probably. Was there a dragonfly with him? He wasn't sure, but two out of three wasn't bad. He looked back at it, watching it doze, and his lip trembled. This was it! His chance to be a hero! He was fairly certain that it was the thing the Leader detested so much, and here it was lying helpless in the street! His mind wandered, and he saw wonderful things: a hero's welcome; a medal for his service; a nice harbourfront house once the territory was conquered. Maybe even an audience with the Leader, and the prospect of praise from the very top excited him into action. Steadying his hands as best he could, he grabbed his hose and took aim.

* * *

**Another month, another chapter. April Fool's Day it may be but this isn't a gag - I don't have enough of an audience to create an effective prank. XD**

**So, the first inkling of there something being amiss appears. Spyro is in danger! D: and who be the Leader the Blubber thinks of? All will be revealed eventually, if any of you are patient enough to follow this ongoing story. (Kudos to you if you are :D)**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Look, it's nothing big and I promise I won't be long…"

Once again he was cut off by furious squawking. Screwy sighed and held the phone away from his ear until she had said her piece, then continued.

"I don't want to be here either, honey, but it must be fixed and I don't get paid until it is. I know it's not ideal, but it has to be done."

More squawks. As she screeched down his ear Screwy took a cautionary glance at the control panel. The dials didn't make good reading.

"Well I'm sorry it has to go to waste, but there's nothing I can do…I'll get something on the way home, then. It's not a problem…When did I insult your cooking? I never said anything of the sort!" he clamped his beak shut to stop himself from snapping at her, "Look, honey, I'm sorry, but I have to fix this boat. I'll be home as soon as I can, but I can't promise when, okay?"

She squawked at him again, but this time her tone was less aggressive. That was the only opportunity Screwy needed.

"Okay, I'll see you later then. Bye, honey…love you, bye."

He slammed the phone down, scraping metal making him wince, and shook his head. Every damn time. She'd been told time and time again his job meant flexible hours, but for the last four years she had persistently ignored it. He whacked the controls with his wing. What the hell had compelled him to marry her? Utterly self-centred, career-obsessed and narcissistic, and he had bought her an expensive ring. With four months worth of wages, no less. He grunted as anger swamped him, then reached into his overalls and grabbed his lighter and a cigarette. He lit it and took a deep drag. There, much better. Now back to work.

He crept along the deck, puffing blooms of smoke as he went, and opened up another panel in the floor. Under it were yet more cogs and pulleys worn by overuse. His beak parted to groan, but he remembered who his work was keeping him from and it dissolved, and with a smile he reached for his toolbox and set to work.

Before long the contraption was laid out in individual pieces on the deck. Screwy wiped his oily wings on his overalls and surveyed his work happily. It mostly looked okay – a few striped and worn pieces here and there, but nothing a few replacements couldn't fix. He plucked the broken components from the collection and turned back to his toolbox, but his eyes reached the Land Blubber first.

It stood a few yards away, not exactly close but near enough to recognise its gelatinous form and firefighting gear. Screwy froze, the cigarette falling from his mouth and extinguishing with a puff of rancid smoke. How the hell had that thing gotten up here? Instinctively he grabbed his spanner and raised it into the air. What was he meant to do again? All Breezebuilders were taught what to do in the event of meeting a Land Blubber, but those vital tips and tricks were evading him in his time of need. He snarled, mostly in frustration but also in an attempt to scare it off, but it didn't move. Slowly he rose to his feet and held the tool higher, but still it stood its ground. Thin trickles of sweat soaked his feathers.

"What do you want?" he demanded, wagging the spanner at the Blubber. Its lips parted, but no sounds left its mouth. Screwy took a step closer, hoping to scare it back, but once again it remained resolute.

"Go away!" he shouted, "Get lost! Shoo! You're not meant to be here!"

The Blubber's hands left its sides. Screwy's pupils shrank.

"I have a weapon," he warned, shaking the spanner again, but the Blubber had no interest in listening. It reached down to its belt and grabbed the fire hose clipped to it.

Screwy twitched and threw the spanner, but the Blubber's body absorbed it and it dissolved in its innards in a flurry of bubbles. The Blubber gurgled happily, and Screwy watched helplessly as it raised the hose and pointed it at him.

"Help!" he screamed, but to his horror the lights were off in the Terminal, and he was forced to watch the Blubber's wicked grin as it locked its aim. His stomach knotted, but his horror waned for a split second as he looked at the barrel of the hose. Was that blue wisps coming out of it? Water didn't do that, but what did? His eyes widened.

"How did you…" he blurted, but his sentence was cut off as the Blubber fired.

* * *

Spyro shifted again, feeling another coarse wind drag him further away from sleep, but it wasn't the weather that made him restless. His stomach churned once more, guilt gnawing on his innards, and as he lay there he was powerless to stop it. The only way he could lay at least two miles up the road.

He squirmed again, but didn't open his eyes. What an idiot he was, interrupting that mechanic. Alright, he was a bit rude, but he had every reason to be. He'd said himself what he had done happened to him all the time, and seeing the annoyance he had stirred within him made him feel awful. He groaned. What a night it had been, and there had to be at least another six hours of moonlight left, and there was no chance of him spending those hours dozing unless he put something right.

"_Maybe I should apologise,_" he thought, "_He'll still be there working on the boat. I can always sneak around the Terminal and climb the bow to get to him. I just need to say sorry_."

He clambered to his feet and blinked his sight back, and as his eyes focused he saw a contrast of red against the wall opposite. He stood still, and watched as his sight tuned into the image of a mound of slime, a hose in its mitts pointed in his direction. Spyro stared at it wide-eyed, and the slime copied his motion, and like that they remained for an uncomfortably long time. Eye versus eye, will versus will, and the slime's was the first to break.

With a yelp he tightened his grip on the hose and primed it to fire, and in a split second Spyro reacted. He rolled to the side to avoid the hose's blast, then spat a jet of fire. It hit the slime square in the side, and it squealed as it melted into a puddle of red goo. Spyro winced as its remnants seeped into the drains, then froze again as the events caught up with him. What was that? Why had it attacked him? What was it doing in a land filled with pelicans? The questions bombarded his mind and sent him off-kilter, but he brushed them away with a fierce shake of his head. It didn't matter. It was probably just a bandit, and it was gone now anyway. Right now he had to focus on easing his guilt.

He tucked Sparx into a gap in the brickwork then set off down the alley, glancing around hopelessly in a vain attempt to find his bearings, his back turned on the puddle of slime and the hose lying in the street. The slime continued to move, seeping into the gaps in the cobbles and leaking into the sewers below, but the hose didn't budge. Stiff. Silent. Lifeless. Until the nozzle fell away, and as the thin metal trundled down the street out of the rubber rolled the glimmering green crystal of an orb.

* * *

**Oh noes! Screwy's in trouble! D: From a Land Blubber, no less. I swear I'm not doing them any justice as I get the impression I'm portraying them as nastier (and gloopier) than they are in the game. Oh well, artistic licence and all that jazz. XD**

**So, Spyro's fought and defeated the Blubber (phew!), but he has an orb in his hose (get your minds out of the gutter! XD). How did that get there? We shall see...**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	5. Chapter 5

The barrage of emotions slammed into Screwy's stomach long before the jet from the hose did. They knotted his innards and froze his senses with tantalising stings of fear and intrigue, and while it filled him with the overwhelming urge to vomit it did give him the split-second he needed to fall to the floor and avoid the shot.

He hit the deck with a clatter mere moments before the jet sailed over his head, burning the feathers on the back of his neck with its intense chill. He looked upwards and saw the Blubber, its face frowning, but it smiled again as it angled its hose downwards. Screwy swiftly rolled away and scrambled back to his feet, and without daring to look back he sprinted across the deck.

"Help!" he screamed hysterically, "For the love of the Ancestors, help me!"

A hiss rang through the air as another shot was fired, and to his relief it slammed into cabin. There was a groan as the wood disintegrated, but its sound didn't compare to the sickly gurgle of satisfaction from the Blubber as it slithered after him.

Screwy skidded around the corner and onto the starboard side. He had to get off the boat, but as he ran to the gangplank he saw only a gap where it should have been. He yelped and beat the rail with frustration. That Blubber wasn't as stupid as he had thought, and as his scream faded into the night he heard its squelching grow ever louder. He turned back towards the cabin, begging the boat for a solution, and it offered him a small nook where an industrial fire was meant to burn. He ran to it and crammed himself inside, pressing himself to its walls to minimise his presence.

He panted, his breaths coming in mortified whines. Now the ball was in the Blubber's court. He had done all he could, but his survival now hinged on how observant the ball of slime was. He clamped his beak together to silence his breaths, and as his head swelled with tension tears began to trickle out of his eyes. What if this was it? What a waste of a life he had lived. Working the wrong job while married to the wrong woman and doing nothing worthwhile amidst all of that. He was a skilled engineer that had used his talents solely to mend what others had created. He had made nothing and contributed nothing to the Harbour other than his pessimism, discontent and downright hostility towards everyone. He hadn't even done anything decent outside of his area of expertise, except maybe entertained a few passers-by while punching someone during a game of ice hockey, but other than that, nothing. What a waste. A waste that was about to come to a very abrupt end.

The squelching grew louder, and Screwy dared to poke an eye from out of his shelter. A flash of red slithered into view and he jerked back inside. His heart pounded. Only seconds now, mere seconds until he found out his fate. Seen or hidden; dying or living. The Blubber slithered into view and he muttered the quietest of prayers, but it couldn't save his heart from shattering as the Blubber twigged on his cowering figure and turned to face him. It gurgled in delight and raised its hose again, lipless mouth grinning maniacally. More blue wisps tumbled from the hose, falling to the ground and freezing Screwy's webbed feet to the deck. He didn't bother to fight it. Nowhere to run now, and as he stared into the bloodthirsty eyes of the Blubber his tears flowed freely. With a sob he closed his eyes and waited. This was it, an unsatisfactory end to an unsatisfactory life.

The excruciating cold from the hose never arrived. As he pressed himself into the nook his ears were stirred not by the whoosh of magic-infused water, but a squeal of agony. His eyes shot open. Where the Blubber once stood was a melting pool of slime, its face disintegrating as flames destroyed its delicate form. Screwy watched with his beak ajar as the Blubber turned to liquid and seeped through the slits in the deck, and he looked upwards to watch a purple dragon step into the damp patch it had once occupied.

"Hey," Spyro said awkwardly. Screwy could only manage a blink. "I just thought I'd apologise for interrupting you earlier. It was rude of me."

Screwy dried his tears on his wing and looked down to the puddle under the dragon's feet, then back at his reptilian eyes.

"Looks like I chose the right time to apologise," Spyro chuckled, shifting on the spot as Screwy's silence unnerved him, "I take it you were in a bit of trouble." More silence. "I'm only guessing, of course," he said, flustered by the thought of harming an innocent creature, "I mean, for all I know you were having a nice conversation with that guy, but it's just he was pointing his hose and you and another one of those creatures did the same to me about half an hour ago..."

"There was another one?" Screwy interrupted.

"Er...yeah. I woke up and there was a slimy creature like what was just attacking you pointing a hose at me. Eventually it fired on me so I killed it, so I presume that one was going to do the same to you."

"Yeah, yeah it was." He breathed an exasperated breath, "Thanks for that. I was in real trouble," he smiled as best he could, "And I'm sorry too, for snapping at you. The job gets to me from time to time, y'know?" He extended a wing, "Oh, I never introduced myself, did I? My name's Sebastian, but everyone calls me Screwy."

"I'm Spyro," the purple dragon replied, meeting his wing with a claw and shaking it.

"Pleased to know you, bud," his face turned serious, "Anyway, you say you've seen a Land Blubber too?"

"Is that what those slimeballs are called?"

"Yeah. They come from Zephyr..."

"Those things?" He looked at him knowingly, "Oh, that's why it's so violent around there. You're at war with them!"

"On and off, yes. We haven't really wanted to fight them for at least ten years now, but every new President loves to act like a bravado and keep it going."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. It's pointless, but hey, while we're at war we have to act appropriately. You say you've seen a Blubber about and that one that just attacked me makes two. Multiple Blubbers about and one of them targeting the shipyards? I'm no tactical genius but it looks like they're trying another attack; we need to raise the alarm."

He walked forward, but only went a step before he tripped on the Blubber's hose. He tumbled to the floor, but the pain from the grazes on his wings subsided when he heard an unusual chink. Frowning, he rolled onto his back and saw Spyro's face contorted by shock, and followed his line of sight until he saw the object of his concern. The hose's nozzle had fallen away, and out of it had spilled a small green sphere that somehow shone in the Harbour's faint light. Screwy narrowed his eyes at it, and as he realised what it was they yawned open.

"Is that an orb?" Screwy said. Spyro shuffled forward and jabbed it. It chimed sweetly off his talon.

"Yeah," he said, "I thought I'd retrieved all the orbs from here."

"More importantly, how the heck did a Blubber get ahold of one?" He rubbed his chin with his wing, "At least it explains the magic water that was coming out of its hose, but you've seen that thing – how would it know how to take apart its hose and put an orb in? And how would it even know what an orb does?" He shook his head, "How would it even find an orb? They're dumb creatures, how could they get anywhere near one of those things?"

"I'm not sure," Spyro said, perplexed, "I retrieved all the orbs and gave them to the Professor, there shouldn't be any in Zephyr or anywhere else," he picked the orb up and examined his reflection in it, "Someone must have given it to them, but who?"

"The Diplomat?"

"No, Elora would never encourage war," Spyro said, voice hardening at his accusation, "But who else could it have been? Only her and the Professor know how to use the orbs, but there has to be someone..." his voice slowed as a realisation hit him. "Else," he said, the word laced with horror. Screwy picked up on the edge and leaned in.

"Yeah?"

"Screwy," Spyro said quietly, looking up from the orb and into the distance, "Do you remember a little squirt called Ripto?"

* * *

**Well, Screwy turns out fine after all. This is what is known in the trade as 'convenient timing' :D So, plotlines unite, but who exactly is behind giving the orbs to the Blubbers? All signs point to Ripto, but who knows just yet?...well, I do, but play along with me, will ya? :)**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

Screwy's beak hovered open in indecision as he tried to place the name, but his opportunity to answer quickly passed as Spyro began to anxiously pace the deck.

"Ripto," the purple dragon said, wearing the same look of confusion he did, "How on Earth did he get ahold of those orbs? There's no possible way he..."

Spyro continued to mumble to himself, and as he did Screwy bent down and picked up the orb that lay there. He stared at his distorted reflection in its emerald curve, and it reflected memories back into his eyes. There had been another flare in tensions between the Harbour and Zephyr. He remembered it clearly, all those Blubbers bouncing around, extinguishing the fires, and he vaguely remembered why: there was no-one to police them. Avalar was too busy trying to solve its own problems to sort them out, and they were busy dealing with...

"That little dinosaur thing?" Screwy suddenly said. Spyro stopped pacing.

"What?"

"Ripto, is he that red dinosaur thing that appeared a few years back?"

"Yeah," Spyro said. He wandered over to Screwy's side, looking up at him hopefully. "Do you know anything?"

"Not really, no," Screwy shrugged, "He never came near here. Us and Zephyr were too busy scrapping with each other for him to cause us any trouble, I just remember hearing about how he was looking for these," he held up the orb.

"Well he never found them then, so how's he found them now?"

"He probably stumbled across it here by accident. We're pretty careless when we aren't trying."

"But why would they find them here? The Professor had them all."

"They were redistributed."

Spyro frowned.

"What?"

"The orbs always belonged to the various worlds of Avalar. I remember them being collected in during the whole Ripto thing to protect them, and once that was over they gave them back."

"Huh."

"But what I don't get is how one of the Blubber grunts had an orb," Screwy said, rubbing his beak, "Though they're dumb Zephyr wouldn't be stupid enough to use one of their own because it might fall into our hands, but I'm not entirely sure how they could be smart enough to steal one of ours."

"And that's where I think Ripto might come in."

Screwy frowned. "You think he's working with Zephyr?"

"Maybe, but I need more info. Why exactly are you at war with them?"

"Resources," Screwy shrugged, "Look around you, it's a giant harbour. Just about all of Avalar's freight comes through here, so the docking fees we receive are massive. We're rich and developed, while Zephyr is just a patch of grass with a few cowleks; they want in on what we have."

"So you control Avalar's trade?"

"Yep."

"And does that mean you can control what goes in and out of Avalar?"

"Just about. We have our own government so they could put restrictions on what goes through the portals, though there'd be a massive price to pay if we did."

"Uh-oh."

Spyro scuttled over to the bow of the ship and stared across the Harbour. Silent, but he could sense something lurking behind it.

"What?" Screwy said nervously.

"Here's the thing," Spyro said, "You guys control Avalar. You play along with them now, but if you put in restrictions you can bring it to its knees. You guys are pretty important, which is why Zephyr wants control of what you have." The clock tolled the hour, and both creatures trembled. "So far they haven't been strong enough to take you over, but now they have a new weapon which you say they wouldn't understand..." he grabbed the orb from Screwy's wing, "But I know someone who would, and they're keen to take over part of Avalar too."

"What are you saying?"

Spyro took a breath, "It's a mad idea, Screwy, but what if Ripto is working with Zephyr? He knows how to use the orbs, and by teaching them how to use them he's creating an army powerful enough to conquer Breeze Harbour, and from there he can cut off all of Avalar's supplies until they surrender to him."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Deadly."

"Like this!" a voice screamed with a malicious trill.

A red laser seared Spyro's back, narrowly missing his scales as it scorched the deck beneath his paws. In an instant he swung around to face its source and poised himself to pounce, and when he saw the grinning red face perched atop a small flying boat he almost did.

"Hello, dragon," Ripto grinned, pointing his staff towards him.

"Hey, shorty," Spyro hissed, "Back for another round?"

"You bet I am, and this time I don't have those two stupid lumps in my way. I'm working alone and already things are going better than before!"

"Alone? You mean you and all the Blubbers?" Screwy said nervously, stepping behind Spyro in a reflexive motion.

"For now, yes, but I only need them until the Harbour is mine. They were even kind enough to give me their orbs as well," he shook his head, "Four orbs are wasted on those idiots."

"Well we have one of them here," Spyro snarled, holding up the flash of green. Ripto responded with a cackle.

"What difference does it make? They're of no use to you. So long as I have one I have more power than you, and guess what?" he held up an orb with his free hand, "I do! I wasn't expecting to see you here, Spyro, but I'm glad you are. You're stranded and helpless, so you can watch me take this world for myself before I destroy you!"

"No chance," Spyro grunted.

"Of course," he said patronisingly, "Anyway, I need to go and help the Blubbers take over this town," he shot another beam at Spyro, which he narrowly dodged, "Follow me if you dare!"

He stomped the little boat's deck, and with a flutter of its papery wings it sped off towards the cluster of buildings in the distance. Spyro's eyes widened in alarm.

"I thought so," he said, "But I didn't think he'd show up himself!" he looked at Screwy, "I'm going after him."

He pounced across the deck and hopped onto the rail, eyeing the drop cautiously for a moment which gave Screwy the time he needed to speak.

"What shall I do?" he said desperately, "I can't just stand here, but then you saw how I was dealing with that Blubber..."

"Work it out for yourself!" Spyro snapped, tossing the orb to Screwy, "I've got a small fry with an attitude problem to deal with, and I don't have much time either. Just stay safe and don't let anyone take the orb from you, okay?"

Screwy nodded dumbly as Spyro spread his wings and leapt from the boat, and only after staring at the empty deck for a considerable time did he turn back to his work. He knelt down by a hatch in the floor and opened it, observing the striped gears within, then slammed it shut and grunted.

"What the hell am I doing?" he said, "The Harbour's in danger and I'm still fixing this bloody boat!"

He stood up and peered over the rail. Too high for him to jump, but he had no intention of resigning himself to his fate. He grabbed a rope from the deck and tied one end round his waist and the other around the rail, and with a brisk tug and a hop overboard he began to lower himself towards the ground.

* * *

**Well, how many of you saw that coming? Looks like a long night is about to get even longer. In a way you also have to pity Ripto - the one night he picks to launch his plan is the same night Spyro mistimes a day trip. Not that he seems too bothered, he's lured Spyro into a chase that he seems pretty confident about. Who knows what he has up his sleeve? 0_0**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	7. Chapter 7

Try as he might, Spyro couldn't figure out where to fix his eyes. Above him sailed the boat carrying Ripto, grinning evilly as his enemy struggled to keep up with his vessel's furious flutter, and sharing the ground with him were an army of Blubbers. The once silent streets of the Harbour night were a thing of the past, the desolate roads and alleys of the settlement now brimming with sickening noises as the Blubbers slurped after him with their hoses. They were few in number, no more than one per two or three streets, but they had weapons that only needed one shot to kill, and there was no-one going to help him out. Not if the numerous sets of eyes peering fearfully out of windows were anything to go by.

He followed the boat down a narrow alley, and his eyes shifted down as he hurtled into a square and into the path of a Blubber. It hastily raised its hose and fired. Spyro rolled to the side, feeling the hose's chill as it hurtled close to his spines, and back to his feet to spit a jet of fire. It only clipped the Blubber's side, but it was enough to make it squeal and melt into a pool of syrup.

"Phew," Spyro breathed, but just as his shock began to drain away a laser blackened the cobbles between his feet. He yelped and scuttled backwards, feeling a sting on his claws, and a mocking cackle shook the air.

"Not so mighty now, are you, dragon?" he sneered, "This time you don't have your stupid friends to help you, but don't worry, I'll make sure they get to organise your funeral."

"Learn to shoot straight before making threats," Spyro snarled.

"So what if I can't shoot straight? I only need to be lucky once," he jabbed his staff at Spyro again and he stepped back, fearing another shot, but his tension evaporated as the Blubber's hose split open and the orb inside flew up into Ripto's hand. "Thanks for standing aside," he cackled, "Anyway, I have a Harbour to storm, so if you want to follow me and see how long it takes for your luck to run out, be my guest!"

The boat fluttered away, and Spyro quickly took off in pursuit. The streets began to wind upwards as they weaved towards the central hills of the town, and Spyro quickly felt the effort consume his legs. Sweat began to dribble from his body, coating him in a sickening sheen that widened the observing Ripto's grin.

"Feeling the burn, dragon?" he taunted.

"Only just warming up," Spyro said, but it came out as a breathy pant that drew a cackle from his enemy.

"Your energy's going," he said cheerfully, "Keep going. I want to see you lying helplessly in the street before I kill you."

The street opened up into another square. By the obligatory fountain stood a Blubber who quickly fixed his aim on the purple dragon, but Spyro was quicker to the draw. The jet of fire knocked him backwards, landing in the fountain with a splash. As the anguished cries filled his ear Spyro pounced behind the fountain and crouched there, breathing heavily as his heart pounded and legs roared their discontent at his flagging figure.

"Haha!" Ripto hooted, "The dragon hides from me! I always knew you were nothing! I just knew you would…"

Spyro ignored the taunts and looked out at the hose lying abandoned in the square. Did it have an orb inside it? He hoped so. If it didn't that meant another chase he didn't have the energy for, but if there was he could put a plan into action. He had seen Ripto retrieve that last orb, but if his staff could pull the weight of the orb could it pull the weight of an orb with a dragon hanging on the end of it? He didn't know, but it was certainly worth the risk.

"…You can't save your sorry hide now!" Ripto cheered, jabbing his staff at where he thought Spyro was cowering. The dragon didn't notice, he only had eyes for the hose. "Anyway, must dash, but not before I retrieve what's mine."

He pointed his staff at the square and the nozzle rolled off the end of the hose, and Spyro pounced. He saw the orb roll out of the rubber and grasped it with his claws, and as it tugged him skywards he flapped his wings to boost his speed. Ripto's pupils shrank as he saw the dragon hurtling towards him, jaws open to attack, but he didn't move. He stood deathly still on the motionless boat until Spyro was no more than a metre from his face, then with a casual flick of his staff he smacked Spyro's jaw and sent him hurtling back to Earth.

The orb fell free from his grasp and flew back up to Ripto, but he fell head over tail, wings flapping uselessly, until he hit the ground with a resounding thump. His chest and stomach began to throb, but the pain dulled as he heard Ripto's victorious cheer.

"Do you think I've learned nothing from our last encounter?" he said, jabbing his staff at him, "I know all of your tricks now. Give up, dragon! You aren't going to stop me now, so choose: prisoner, or death!"

Ripto kicked the boat and it began to flutter away again, and Spyro watched it as he dragged himself off the floor. His stomach was scratched by the hard cobble and he was still trying to recover the breath that had been knocked out of him, but there was no time for him to waste on recovery, and with grit in his eyes he galloped off in pursuit.

* * *

Screwy moved cautiously through the streets. One webbed foot at a time; peering around corners before stepping around them, all overly careful stuff, but being reckless wasn't something he could afford to do. He was unarmed in a town full of orb-wielding Blubbers. A knife in a gunfight, and he had left the knife at home. Not that it mattered that he was empty-handed, the spanner had been useless on the boat. All a weapon was to him was a false hope against an enemy that outnumbered and outgunned him.

He cut under an arch and was blasted in the face by searing light and heat. For a split second he feared the worst, but as he squinted he saw one of the town's many lava lakes, undulating as it spewed burning air into the atmosphere.

"I thought they were meant to be covering these over," he muttered, but then he noticed the charred and melted metal around the pool's edge.

"Ah," he said.

He began to pick his way around the lake, pressing himself into the wall as the path grew narrower and questioning why he was doing this in the first place. What contribution to repelling the invasion would skirting around lava make? He was moving aimlessly, hoping to wander into a situation where he could become a hero, or more likely a victim. He sighed, opening his beak and filling it with noxious fumes as he breathed. He truly was useless. Hapless, hopeless, helpless and unhelpful…

The lava surged as a metal mine leapt from its scalding waves, grinning maniacally at Screwy as it arced through the air.

"Ah!" Screwy screamed, shock pounding his heart, and his screams grew louder as the mine landed back in the lava and splashed it dangerously close to him. He squeezed himself against the brick, watching every droplet intensely until they slithered back into the lake. "Bloody mines," he panted, "Thought they were all gone…"

He stopped mid-sentence as a realisation hit him. Those mines, they weren't new around here. They'd appeared years ago, and what had they done to sort them out? Installed cannons to shoot them down, cannons that he had had a hand in creating. Cannons he had designed specifically to shoot down flying objects. Be they mines or little red dinosaurs on flying boats.

Screwy slowly turned his head to the side, and a smile spread on his beak. On the edge of the lake, its shining turret reflecting the lava's glow, was a cannon. He squeaked in delight and ran towards it, leaping into the cockpit with an eager flutter of his wings. He pulled a lever and the cannon began to turn, and he released it as the brick wall behind him dipped, exposing the Harbour's towers and turrets. A sudden feeling of apprehension gripped him, sending sweat tumbling from his brow and stinging his eyes. Look at all the things he could hit if he missed, and as he stared across the congested landscape he wondered what buildings lay in his cannon's flightpath. Homes? Certainly. Maybe a nursery for infants, or possibly one of the many hotels housing the stranded travellers. All waiting for a cannon to crash through their roofs if he was even slightly out. He extended his wing over the cannon's angle adjuster, the feathers trembling. Maybe he wouldn't show up. Maybe Spyro had chased him away from the town centre, but that was hardly likely. The shipyards were on the right of the panorama before him and the nerve centre of the Harbour on the left. If he had any sense he would come this way, and that meant he would get a chance to shoot him down. Or an unsuspecting group of innocent people.

He sat rigid in the cockpit, wings hovering over the control levers, listening to the repetitive splash of the jumping mines and diverting his gaze for split-seconds at a time to check for Blubbers. Surely he was wasting his time? Spyro would sort him out, but his comforting illusion shattered as a little boat fluttered by in the distance. He reflexively grabbed the leavers, but forced himself to release them.

"No!" he told himself, "It might just be a shuttle boat," but then a red laser fired from the boat to the ground below and that illusion shattered too. The boat in the distance was Ripto's escape vehicle, and he squeezed his beak together as he realised it had ground to a halt. Still; motionless; waiting for him to act.

His pulse surged, and with quaking feathers he adjusted the cannon to point at the distant object, tilting his head and leaning in his seat as he did so, determined to find the absolute perfect angle. From this distance one degree out could be catastrophic, the difference between success and destruction, and the end of his chance. One shot was all he had.

In the distance the boat shook a little, and his pupils shrank. It was about to leave, he had to fire now. He grabbed the trigger lever and took a deep breath. Could he do it? Risk destroying something or someone for the sake of taking a tiny speck in the distance by surprise? Every part of him said no. Every part except his sense of urgency, and as the distant boat shook again it prevailed over all. He pulled the lever with a vicious tug and a cannonball shot into the air, hurtling at unimaginable speed towards the distant speck, and as Screwy watched it arc through the blackened night sky his world slowed to a fraction of its normal speed.

* * *

**Sorry for the late upload, had a lot to do this month and this has been the first opportunity I've had to publish. :)**

**Anyway, it seems Ripto has finally learned something (makes a pleasant change), and suddenly Spyro looks very vulnerable. Well, anyone would be if someone has a height, speed and weaponry advantage over you. That's not to say Spyro's done for, though, but that cannonball from Screwy would be of great help to him. If it hits, and if it doesn't things could get a lot, lot worse...**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. :)**


	8. Chapter 8

With every passing step the paths grew steeper and the buildings closer together, and Spyro's body more painful and his panic greater. It was clear now that the outskirts had been and gone, and now he was traversing the nerve centre of the Harbour, vainly chasing after a swift boat with legs that had screamed at him to stop for the last mile. He was beyond able to hide his fatigue, though his appearance was the last thing on his mind as he watched the boat slide further and further away from him.

Another shot rained down from the boat, and he dived aside. It sailed down harmlessly beside him, but it gave the boat another few yards advantage. Grunting in frustration, Spyro took up the chase again, more resistance spreading through his legs. In his stomach he felt a stitch bite down, but he lowered his head and pushed on, only to regret it when he almost ran into the path of another shot. He leapt aside and fell to the floor, his legs curling with cramp, and heard another cheer from Ripto.

"Your time's up, dragon!" he taunted, "Want to surrender or are you happy to lie there and let me kill you?"

Spyro gritted his teeth and rolled back to his feet.

"Never," he panted, and started running again, much slower than before. Ripto grinned, shrugged, and kicked the boat back into motion.

The road turned and dispensed them onto a row of shops, all shuttered and barred for the night. Spyro's gaze was averted for a moment as he spotted an ice cream shop. The ice cream shop, the one he and Sparx had gone into and ended up stuck here because of it. One shop, responsible for his burning legs and throbbing stomach and the maniac cheering on his demise. And the Blubber that suddenly slithered from one of the side streets and poised itself to fire.

"Ah!" Spyro yelped in shock, spitting a breath of fire in the nick of time. It hit the Blubber as icy wisps began to tumble from the hose, and the melting mound of jelly was enough to prevent a shot from hitting him square in the face. The sound of its screams was strangely relieving, and he seized the sound as an opportunity to gain a few precious seconds of rest. He greedily breathed in the cool night air, squeezing his eyes shut to rid himself of the twitch the world was making every now and again. Much better, he could feel his stitch subsiding and the quivering in his legs slowing to a halt, but his relief was lost to unimaginable pain as another laser soared down from above and struck his paw.

He screamed, and his wounded paw buckled and sent him to the floor. He ground his teeth as the pain rocked him and curled into a protective ball. The light was lost from the world, but even in the gloom he could see his wound, and it made him yelp. The scales on his paw were now tinted red, some by an intense burn and others by the blood that weeped from a handful of open sores that had formed under the heat of the laser. And they throbbed like hell. His breathing quickened as he felt the agony surge through him, and once again his pain was amplified by the sound of a manic cackle.

"Bullseye!" Ripto said, doing a small jig of delight. "I struck first! Victory is mine!"

Spyro scowled up at him.

"What do you mean?" he seethed breathlessly, "You hit my paw; I have three more. I can still get you."

"Oh really?" Ripto smirked, "Try."

Determination in his eyes, Spyro tried to clamber to his feet, but as his wounded paw touched the cobbles he let out a gasp of pain. The realisation arrived soon after, but he persevered. He placed his one good front paw on the ground, and with an almighty heave pushed himself upright, but he only lasted a few seconds on his feet before he overbalanced.

"See?" Ripto crowed as Spyro hit the ground again, "You're finished, dragon."

"Never!" Spyro roared, flapping his wings desperately but going nowhere.

"Yes, go on! Struggle!" Ripto said, "I want to see you try and escape before I kill you! Don't go quietly! Go crawling and writhing and screaming for help! Act like the coward you always have been!"

He angled his staff down at him again, and the red gem at its tip began to glow. Spyro's pupils shrank, and he fell still. What good was it now? There was no chance of escape, and that left him faced with the unthinkable. The world slowed to crawl, and questions began to bombard his head. What would happen to him now? Where would he go? Where would his body go? How would his friends react? Well, he could guess how Sparx would feel, especially as he would wake up to find his friend's corpse being paraded as a trophy by someone they thought they'd seen the back of long ago. He grimaced. He was about to cause Sparx even more trouble, and once again it was entirely his fault.

"Sorry, bud," he whispered, and looked up and waited for the shot that would finish him off. The gem glowed brighter and brighter until he had to squint to see it, but before its immense energy could burst free a sharp whistle filled the air. Spyro turned a lone eye towards it, and added a second as it grew louder, and with sheer confusion he watched as a cannonball curved over the buildings and smashed Ripto's boat to smithereens.

Spyro ducked and shielded his eyes as debris rained down on him, and he only looked back at the world when he felt the last splinters of wood flutter onto his paws. The empty street was now littered with broken materials. Wood; cloth; thin metal brackets twisted and warped by the impact strewn across the cobbles, and in the midst of it lay a dazed dinosaur, sat upright and rubbing his head.

"Urgh," he groaned, but his moans ceased and his eyes widened as he spotted the dragon staring at him, and Spyro guessed what he was thinking. Now they were on level ground, literally and metaphorically. He grinned, and Ripto scrambled to his feet.

"Running away, shorty?" Spyro said as Ripto grabbed his staff.

"No, I'm…well…aargh!"

He fired at Spyro and missed by a comfortable margin, but it was enough to rouse Spyro into action. He moved to stand up again, but his wounded paw reminded himself of his presence with a scream. Gritting his teeth, he shifted onto three legs and hobbled forward, hoping his momentum would prevent him from falling, but he only went two yards before he tripped. Once again he heard Ripto's cackle.

"Maybe all isn't lost," he said, "You can't walk, you'll never catch up with me!"

Spyro picked himself up and hobbled forward again, but was met with the same outcome.

"Haha! You're a shadow of your former self, dragon. Anyway, allow me to make myself scarce. Don't worry, though, I'll be back here once I've got another boat, 'cause I don't think you're going anywhere in a hurry!"

Ripto ran off, and Spyro could only watch helplessly as he turned a corner and disappeared from view. Once more he painstakingly levered himself to his feet, but he could only shuffle a few centimetres at a time before his weight grew too much for his lone front paw. He collapsed to the cobbles again and slapped them with a scream of frustration. When was the last time something like this had happened? Well, never. Last time there had been Sparx and Zoe and Elora and Hunter and everyone else that was united behind a common cause. Not tonight, though. Tonight all he had was a short-fused pelican with oily wings, and even he wasn't around either, but with a wounded paw in a town full of Blubbers wanting his head and Ripto still rampant he needed his support. He sighed as he realised what that meant, and with one last scrape of the dregs of his energy he pushed himself back to his feet.

He limped back through the streets in the direction of the cannonfire, panting at the effort of keeping upright while remaining vigilant for Blubbers. Surely it was Screwy who had fired that shot? The only other person it could have been were one of the many sets of eyes holed up in their houses, and he highly doubted they had chosen now to put on a brave face. He looked like the only option, and backwards seemed like the right direction to go to find him, but what if Screwy thought otherwise? What if he was going the other way trying to get to him? And he would know the Harbour better too. He'd know the fastest route to the street he had left, and it certainly wouldn't be the way he was taking now. Roads that wound and weaved like this were never the fastest route. Angst filled his head at the thought of them unknowingly moving away from one another, but all of his fears proved unfounded as he hobbled through a bend only to have Screwy skid round it in the opposite direction and trip over him.

"Aah!" he screamed, flying through the air before landing with a painful crash on the cobbles. Spyro winced at the impact of Screwy's knee against his ribs, but winced more as Screwy dragged himself back to his feet, revealing bloodstained feathers on his right wing.

"Ouch," Spyro said, "Sorry for tripping you."

"It's alright," Screwy panted, "I should have been looking where I was going." His eyes suddenly widened, "Did I hit him?"

"What?"

"Ripto. I shot a cannonball at his boat and I didn't see if it hit. Did it?"

"Yeah, it did."

Screwy swung a fist in delight.

"Get in!" he hooted, but quickly reverted to seriousness, "So did it kill him?"

"No. He's still on the move."

"So are you chasing him?"

"No."

Screwy blinked, his beak twitching in anger.

"What? Why not?" he demanded, and Spyro responded by showing him his burned and bleeding paw.

"Ah."

"Before he got shot he managed to hit my paw with one of his lasers," Spyro explained, "Luckily you shot him before he could do anymore damage, but he just picked himself up and ran off to get another boat, and with this I can't run fast enough to catch him."

"Can't you fly?"

"Not old enough yet," Spyro sighed, "A glide and nothing more."

"Right," Screwy nodded, narrowing his eyes as a plan formulated in his head. "Which way did he go?"

"Back that way, down the other end of the street with the ice cream shop on in."

"Harbour Road," Screwy nodded, "Well he can't have gone far, then."

"How?"

"End of that street is a trap for tourists. So many streets converging and diverging. I guarantee you we'll find him studying a map."

"If we can get there, what with my paw."

"That's where I come in," he turned around and crouched down in front of Spyro, "Get on my back."

Spyro cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"How much can one little dragon weigh? C'mon, get on."

"Hmm..."

"I don't know if you've noticed but Ripto is probably getting away from us," Screwy said, and that was enough to sway him. He awkwardly clambered up Screwy's back and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Ready to go?" he asked. Spyro nodded. "Good," he turned his eyes to the road ahead, "Let's find that little runt."

Despite the weight on his back Screwy ran as fast as legs could take him, and Spyro clung on for dear life as the shops of the Harbour Road whizzed past him in a blur, bouncing painfully against his back as he skipped to avoid the debris. They motored down to the end of the street, and once the last shop passed them by the wide spread of cobble split off into numerous narrow tributaries.

"Which way..." Spyro began, but Screwy had already made a decision. He took the third path from the left, squeezed between two houses, and his legs ran faster as it sloped downhill.

"Are you sure about this?" Spyro said as he pondered spreading his wings to reduce their increasingly worrying speed.

"'Course I am," Screwy said, "All these roads lead to the same place, and with any luck Ripto will be at the end of it."

"Will he really be looking at a map, though?"

"Would you want a map after all these twisty roads led to the same place?" Screwy quizzed, and Spyro fell silent.

The alleyway opened out into a near-empty plaza, dominated only by two things: a tourist map perched on a pole in the middle of it all, and the orange-skinned dinosaur studying it with a narrowed eye, which promptly rolled across and widened as he saw the pelican-mounted dragon barrelling towards him.

"What?!" he screamed, "How..."

He was cut off as a breath of fire was launched at him, and he swiftly leapt aside and returned the fire. The laser soared harmlessly into the sky.

"Ah!" he yelped, and with frantic pedals of his stumpy legs he ran. Screwy quickly took off in pursuit.

"We're going to get you, shorty!" Spyro taunted as the gap closed, the dinosaur's wheezes growing louder with every step, but as Spyro opened his jaws to spit a fireball at him he suddenly leapt into a side alley.

Screwy skidded to a halt and turned around, but both him and the dragon on his shoulders silently cursed as they realised the gap was growing again. They skirted onto the alley and spotted Ripto hopping up the final levels of a flight of stairs, and hastily followed him up. It dispatched them onto the platform of a trolley station, but though they had followed someone the station was deserted. Panicking, Screwy ran to the track and looked down it to see Ripto rolling away on a trolley, grinning madly until it faded into the distance.

"Damn!" Screwy roared, "We almost had him!"

"Almost isn't enough, he's getting away."

"And that trolley will take him back to the shipyards."

Spyro let out a roar of frustration.

"We need to get him!" he said, "Can't we follow him on one of these trolleys?"

"Yeah, I suppose, but I'll warn you now: at night we..."

Spyro cut him off with an unimpressed glare.

"Do we really have a choice?" he said. Screwy meekly shook his head, then stepped onto a trolley.

He dropped Spyro in front of the controls and turned his eyes to the engine cabinet.

"Look over the panel for me, will you?" he said, opening the metal box and prodding the innards, "I'm going to try and take off the speed limiter so we can catch him."

"What do I need to do?"

"Hit the red switch and see if the two lights come on, they're on the centre of the console. If they don't come on or glow red instead of green, turn the switch off and on again until they do."

Spyro nodded and flicked the switch. One green light. He turned it off and tried again. One green light and one red light. He tried a third time, the rustle of metal as Screwy modified the engine and the mounting pressure boiling his temper. One green light again. A wisp of smoke came from his nostril as he tried a fourth time. The same outcome as before. He turned off the switch with a slap of his good paw. Screwy's rustling had ceased – it had taken him less time to modify an engine than for him to turn a switch on properly. With a grunt he turned it on again. One green light.

"Trouble with the trolley, eh?" Screwy said. Spyro furiously turned towards him. "Woah, it's alright!" he said, seeing his scowling face, "I'll fix it."

He leaned across and twisted a dial on the console, then tried the switch again. Two green lights. Spyro frowned for a moment, then reality caught up with him and he pressed a hand on a lever.

"Is it ready?" he asked.

"Yep."

"Good," he pushed the lever as far forward as it would go, and the trolley rolled out of the station, "We're going to catch you, shorty, if it's the last thing we do."

* * *

**Feck, this took a while to write.**

**A lot longer than most of the chapters, but I guess that's how it works out. Sometimes more has to happen and that's the case here. I think all of this is rather exciting, but eye of the beholder and all that. *shrugs***

**Screwy to the rescue! And yes, it wouldn't be Breeze Harbour without the trolleys, would it? :D Sadly it appears Fisher is not on duty, but Screwy is so kind as to fill in for him, because it's not an authentic Breeze Harbour experience until you've heard that line. 50. Frigging. Times. XD**

**Anyway, not long to go now, and with a trolley chase underway hopefully it's all exciting n' stuff now. But who's going to come out on top? We shall see, we shall see... :)**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	9. Chapter 9

An abominable screech filled their ears as the trolley picked up speed, hurtling along the rusted line and showering the ground below with sparks, but Screwy powered through the chill it sent down his spine, leaning from side to side as it swung around the corners to stop it from flying into the cramped streets or the bubbling lava below.

"Can you see him yet?" he shouted over the noise. Spyro too shook off his discomfort and peered across the horizon, and with each second he looked a red blot drew ever closer to them.

"Yep," he shouted back, "I can see him, and we're catching him."

"Great," Screwy said, relieved, "Can you fire the cannon alright?"

"Yeah."

"Phew," he said, though there was no relief on his face, "How many shots do we have? There's a dial below the blue switch which should tell you."

Spyro leaned over the controls.

"Two," he said.

"Uh-oh," Screwy whispered back, leaning across as they hit another corner.

Ripto clearly heard their roaring approach, as he spun around as they hit a straight section of track. They were close enough to see the scowl on his face and the glimmer of the gem on his staff as it charged for another shot.

"Duck!" Spyro screamed, and they hit the deck just in time to avoid a laser beam which sailed over their heads. Spyro instantly leapt back to his feet and slammed the trigger for the cannon. It launched with an abominable roar, and the noise gave Ripto just enough of a head-start to lean outwards and avoid it. The jaws of dragon and pelican dropped.

"Thought you had me there, didn't you, dragon?" he said smugly, "Do you keep forgetting I've learned from my previous mistakes? There's nothing you can do to stop me now!"

"What about the guy who shot you down?" Spyro retorted, nodding at Screwy.

"It was you, was it?" Ripto seethed. Screwy trembled, "Well, I'll make sure I have something special planned for you once I've taken control of the Harbour," he glanced behind him and noticed a turn fast approaching, "But to do that I need to get a ship, and that means getting away from you, so back to work!"

He raised his staff and the gem glowed. Screwy and Spyro ducked again, but before he fired Ripto spun away from them. The shot launched away from them and struck a railroad switch, and Spyro and Screwy could only watch as he hurtled off to the right and the track reset itself and sent them left.

"Aargh!" Spyro roared, slamming his paw against the console as he watched Ripto disappear into the distance, "Now we're back to square one!"

"And with only one cannonball left as well," Screwy said, licking his beak, "And we'll have to use it to follow him on the same road he's taken."

Spyro stared hopelessly along the rails, "What good is catching him if we've got nothing to fight him with?"

"No good," Screwy said, "Which is why I'm going to try something a little bit risky."

"What's that?"

The trolley rolled out of the loop it had taken and back onto the straight.

"You'll see," Screwy said, "Just hold on tight."

Spyro cocked an eyebrow at him, but locked his claws into the wood and watched the turn grow closer. Screwy leaned on the control panel, adjusting the accelerator with the tiniest of touches from his feathers, a lone bead of sweat trickling from his brow as he watched the switch grow nearer.

"Three..." he said, curling his wings around the panel, "Two...One..."

Screwy tugged on the panel and shifted all his weight to the right. The trolley's left wheels rose off the rails with a screech and fell back on with a shower of sparks, and though the smouldering of wood lingered in their nostrils it was the last thing on Screwy's mind. They had gone right.

"Haha!" Screwy said, fist-pumping the air, "Get in!"

"Save you cheers for later," Spyro said, shoving the accelerator back up to full throttle, "We still have Ripto to catch, and we know that isn't going to be easy."

Screwy nodded and crouched down as the trolley picked up speed, stony reserve on his beak but happiness at having accomplished more in one night than in the entirety of the rest of his life burning his insides.

The trolley accelerated until the wind pulled their faces taut and the world became nothing more than a blur, but despite the streams of wind-born tears pouring out of their eyes they spotted Ripto's trolley up ahead, and more alarmingly the high stacks of wood and metal perched on the piers beside rows of skyboats.

"The shipyard," Spyro bellowed over the rushing wind, "If he gets another boat we're in real trouble. We need to get him now."

The trolleys screamed along the winding track as they cut through the shipyards, and with each corner the distorted figure of Ripto grew ever closer. When the blur of red grew close enough Screwy leaned forward and eased off the accelerator, slowing them down enough to bring the world back into focus, revealing the scowling reptilian face shooting them an evil look.

"How?" he demanded sorely.

"Helps when you know someone who knows what he's doing," Spyro said, tilting his head towards Screwy. Ripto seethed.

"Well let's see how you manage without him again!" he roared, and the gem on his staff glowed again. Spyro and Screwy quickly hit the deck, clinging to the wood as the trolley arced around another corner.

"How long 'til the next trolley stop?" Spyro asked quietly, peering across at Ripto's malicious leer.

"A few minutes, no more."

"Then we'd better get him now," Spyro said. He reached up to press the cannon fire, but Screwy pushed away his paw.

"No!" he said, "We've only got one shot and you're about to waste it."

"Well we've got to fire it at some point!"

"And if you fire it now we'll get the same outcome as last time!" he hissed, "We need to be creative."

"Then be creative," Spyro said tetchily, "You know this stretch better than I do. If you're going to stop me doing my bit then be prepared to take my place!"

Screwy suppressed his flaring temper and peered back across at Ripto. He was still facing them, poised and ready to strike, seemingly unaware of the growing shape of the shipyard trolley terminal burst up out of the horizon. He clacked his beak together nervously. They were running very short of time, and he could even see the maze of tracks snaking over the ground, coiling over each other in confusing patterns towards their platforms with an array of railroad switches stood at their sides. Screwy narrowed his eyes at the twists. Where on Earth would that mess take them? Probably onto Platform 2 or 3 like every other trolley, but you never knew with a mess of a station like this. For all he knew it might take them onto that new bit of track. The one where the engineers had, in their infinite wisdom, built the switches before they had completed the track. Leaving a perilous jump for whoever was foolish enough to divert themselves onto it...

Screwy's eyes widened as he twigged on an idea, which he immediately scolded himself for. No, it was idiotic. But did they really have a choice? He glanced across at Spyro and observed the wings tucked neatly behind his back. They could both fly, even if it was only to a small degree, and the jump wasn't exactly that big. Could they do it? Probably not, but there was enough about them to give them a decent shot at survival, and with a grunt he raised his wing up to the cannon's button.

"_Now or never,_" he thought, craning his head out from behind the cannon and watching the shape of the track, calculating which switch would divert them the right way. Spyro watched him as he narrowed his intensifying eyes, and soon after shot him the same look.

"What are you..."

"Shush," Screwy ordered, locking his eyes on what he hoped was the right switch.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"Because you'll probably disagree if I do. Just trust me and play along with it."

"Are you about to do something stu..." Spyro said, but he was cut off by an immense bang as Screwy fired the cannon.

As expected Ripto leaned to one side and the cannonball through harmlessly past him. He steadied himself and cackled, and Spyro shot Screwy a look of contempt, but the pelican only paid attention to the cannonball as it struck the signal box behind it.

"You never learn, do you?" Ripto taunted, "You've failed, my new boat awaits...ah!"

The trolley lurched to the right as it reached the diverted track, and Ripto almost toppled off. He grabbed the cannon behind him to steady himself, and with his feet planted firmly on the ground he raised his staff again. Spyro eyed him cautiously, clinging on tightly as the trolley veered away from the station and up a bank, but was snapped away from his concentration by Screwy jabbing his side.

"Get up," he instructed.

"You're kidding," Spyro said.

"I'm not."

"But he'll shoot us!"

"That's nowhere near as bad as what might happen if you don't stand up."

"What are you on..."

The words slipped away from him as the trolley arced over the top of the bank, revealing the cave in the distance, the line of incomplete track poking out of it, and the end of the track they were running on.

"Are you serious?" he roared, "You've gone and killed us!"

"I think we'll make it."

"You think?"

"Yeah, I guess," he gave a stiff shrug, "Just stand up and keep your feet on the trolley at all times and we might just make it."

Spyro took one last look at the gaping gorge awaiting them, and joined Screwy on his feet. Ripto stared perplexed as they steadied themselves against the cannon, their heads and chests open to attack, but quickly slipped back into his malicious grin.

"So, resigning yourselves to your fate, are we?" he said, the gem glowing again, "Great! Let's see what you look like without your heads!"

He pointed the staff at them as the gem glowed blindingly bright, but the shot never came, as moments later the trolley rolled off the rails. It soared over the gap, and as it dropped Ripto's feet left the trolley, leaving him to flail and cry in mid-air.

"Ah!" he screamed as he fell, and though the sound filled Spyro and Screwy with joy their hearts stopped as their own trolley left behind solid ground.

"Hold on!" Screwy shouted as gravity began to take hold, and as they accelerated their feet began to lift away from the wood. They dug their hands into the cannon's metal, eyes locked on Ripto's trolley as it bounced onto the track below and veered wildly into the cavern before a great crash echoed out of it. Alarm squeezed their throats tightly shut, but though fear chilled them to their core neither dared close their eyes. They stared unblinking at the approaching tracks, watching as the rocky jaws prepared to swallow them and praying they wouldn't be chewed.

Their hearts surged as the rails grew nearer, and almost burst as they hit the ground. Sparks and a piercing screech showered the cavern and the trolley's back wheels flew up, bucking like a bronco, but were quickly met by Spyro and Screwy's feet, and as all four wheels firmly touched down and the trolley rolled to a halt they breathed an immense sigh of relief. With shaking limbs they clambered off of the trolley and collapsed at the side of the track, panting as their sky-high pulses slowly began to drop.

"You okay?" Spyro said breathlessly.

"Yeah," Screwy wheezed, pulling his knees up to his chest. "Yourself?"

"I'm fine."

They began to giggle.

"It's been quite a night, hasn't it?"

"Yeah," Spyro laughed, "Sparx isn't going to believe me when I tell him about it."

At that moment the sound of pained moaning reverberated down the tunnel. "But we aren't done yet," Spyro added, shakily climbing back to his feet, "Shall we?"

They picked their way through the cavern, the moans growing louder with each step, and as they rounded a bend fragments of debris began to appear, growing denser and denser until they amassed in a great heap beneath a wall with a dark impact mark, and sprawled across the pile of wood and metal shavings was Ripto, slightly bloodied and groaning in agony, but the pain he clearly felt disappeared from his eyes as Spyro and Screwy loomed over him.

"You going to give it up now, shorty?" Spyro asked him. Ripto nodded weakly. "Good," he grinned, "And are you going to call off your army of Blubbers and return those orbs to their rightful owners?"

Another nod.

"Good boy," he said. Ripto's face relaxed, relieved to have been spared greater punishment, but as he noticed Spyro's smirk turn devilish he tensed up again. "However," he said, raising his wounded paw, "You still have this to make up for, and I think this deserves more serious punishment."

Ripto whimpered, and Screwy joined in with the smirking.

"And I think I know what I'm going to do."

With a swift twist of his neck he sank his teeth into the collar of Ripto's cape, and with screams of protest in his ear he began to drag him down the tunnel and back towards the Harbour.

* * *

**Well, not long to go now. :D Will be at a loose end once this is over. I'll have to come up with original ideas. XD**

**So, looks like Ripto's attempted tyranny has once again ended in failure, but what's Spyro up to? Will he be lenient? And what's become of Sparx? Maybe a Blubber found him. D: Guess we'll have to see when I can be bothered to write Chapter 10. :D**

**Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated.**


	10. Chapter 10

The world came back to Ripto as a smear of colour, and a very warm one at that. Within seconds of coming to he felt sweat break out from his skin, and he yelped as it dribbled into his eye. He clenched them shut as pain took over, but when it subsided he opened them again and saw a world in focus. A world he was suspended above.

He swivelled his head to look around, which was difficult under the strain on his neck. Around him was the brickwork of the Harbour's industrial developments, but what caught his eye was what was underneath him: lava. A searing pool of scorching, undulating lava, out of which sprung a heavy-duty chain which rose up to the structures above. Attached to one of its links was a hook, and attached to the hook was his cape, and attached to that and dangling in mid-air was him.

"Argh!" he screamed, and with his fright released his face morphed into a snarl, "What is the meaning of this?"

"Punishment," a voice said. Ripto looked towards it, and his fury strengthened as he saw a purple dragon grinning at him from the lava's edge.

"You," he seethed.

"Good morning, shorty," Spyro chuckled, "How's it hanging?"

"Let me down this instant!"

"Can't do that, I'm afraid."

"Why not?"

"I can't get at you for the mines."

As if on cue, a mine surged from the lava and splashed back in. Ripto felt its heat scald his toes, and he screamed and thrashed, his little legs flailing madly.

"This is an outrage!" he shrieked.

"Woah, easy shorty!" Spyro said, "Don't wriggle too much or your cape might rip."

"Get me down from here at once!"

"I told you, I can't."

"You can reach the chain from the top of that ledge!" he said, jabbing at the wall behind him.

Spyro raised a bandaged paw, "Sorry buddy, I'm afraid I can't get you down with this. Shame, if only you hadn't tried to kill me I could have tried. Oh well, I'll guess you'll get down when one of the pelicans comes and rescues you. Which is never."

He winked at him and turned to leave, and Ripto resumed thrashing.

"You!" he screamed wildly, "I'll get you! I'll tear you in half! I'll make you sorry for everything you've ever done, dragon! Mark my words, I'll get you! I'll get you!"

* * *

With a creak of its aged timber the skyboat fluttered its great wings and crawled out of the dock. Screwy admired the beleaguered majesty of its movements through his bloodshot eyes, and as it drifted across the horizon he looked down to his clipboard and scribbled his signature on the paper.

"At last," he sighed gratefully, "Fourteen hours late, but it's finally done. Fixed and away, with every passenger on-board...well, not all of them."

He looked down at the purple dragon and his dragonfly companion, still watching the boat blend into the horizon. They noticed him watching and smiled up at him.

"I still can't believe you didn't get on," Screwy said.

"What?" Spyro shrugged, "It's only an hour 'til the portal opens again."

"Yeah, but you spent a bomb on those tickets. I thought you'd want to put them to good use."

"Ah, money's money. I can always get some more, but I might not come back here, and I certainly won't see the likes of last night again."

"Bzz bz bzzz bz bzz!"

Spyro laughed, "Yeah, you're right. Until the next lunatic shows his face, anyway."

Screwy let out a prolonged yawn, and as his beak levered shut again his heavy eyelids blinked rapidly, desperately trying to keep him awake.

"Well," he said sleepily, "My work's done, so I guess I'd better get home and get some rest," he smirked, "If my wife lets me."

"Oh, okay," Spyro said. He looked back up at Screwy and the pelican met his gaze, and they shared an awkward, mutual feeling.

"So," Screwy said eventually, eager to cut through the tension, "Thanks for...being around. The Harbour would be a very different place if you hadn't."

"And thanks to you as well for the cannonball and the trolley." He grinned, "Just as well the boat got delayed, eh?"

"Yeah," Screwy laughed.

"So what are you going to do now? After we've gone, I mean."

Screwy shrugged his shoulders, "Go back to reality, I guess. Sleep; eat; mend ships; get shouted at by my wife; not get attacked by tyrannical dinosaurs. That sort of thing."

"Alright," Spyro chuckled, "Well, I'll not keep you any longer. Sleep well, and see ya."

"See ya," Screwy nodded. They shot each other a parting smile, and Screwy slinked away and out of the Harbour, Spyro and Sparx watching as the brown of his overalls faded in among the buildings.

"Well, Sparx," Spyro said, "That's another face been and gone. How many's that now?"

"Bzzzbzzzbz."

"I'd say more," Spyro shrugged, "Anyway, he's not the first face we've seen and he won't be the last either, but I think he's gonna go down as one of the better ones."

"Bzzz bzzbzzzz bzz bz bzzbz?"

"You'll have to take my word for it." A wry smile spread across his face, "He's still a bit of a jerk, though."

"Bzzz?"

"Nah, it's nothing, pal. Anyway," he glanced up at the Harbour clock tower, "It's still a while before the portal opens, so we have some time to kill, so how about we go for an ice cream?"

Sparx rolled his eyes.

"Bzbzzzbz bzz bzzz bz!"

Spyro laughed.

"Relax, I said that deliberately. Seriously though, do you want ice cream or not?"

Sparx smiled. "Bzz."

Spyro smiled back. "Great."

As one they turned and walked along the pier; past the docks; up the winding hill and through the cobbled streets of the Harbour, the city glowing in the morning sun.

* * *

Screwy had never noticed how nice the Harbour could be. To him it had always been a grimy, industrial mess populated entirely by the drunken dregs of the animal kingdom, but then he had only ever worked nights. By day the streets were positively charming, the bright light emphasising the intricacy of the brickwork and shining pretty reflections off of the windows. And it was peaceful, too. All he ever knew was the disgruntled chatter of the terminal, the laddish banter of his workmates and the hooting and cheering of the drinkers in the pubs, but now the streets were awash with the pleasant sounds of everyday life. He smiled as he watched the shopkeepers go about their business and the town's mothers chatter pleasantly to one another, their children gurgling happily as they sucked on ice creams. This was something he could get used to, and with Ripto and the Blubbers gone there was no doubt that he would.

He cut under an archway and began to skirt around the lava lake, but stopped as a flash of purple caught his eye. He looked up, and a massive smirk spread across his beak as he saw Ripto, dangling by his cape above the sea of yellow and orange and red, and Ripto saw him too.

"You!" he roared, jabbing an accusing finger at him, "What are you doing here?"

"Taking a shortcut home," he said innocently, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Planning," he seethed, "You win for now, but if you think this is the end then you've got another thing coming. I will get down from here, and I'll find my staff and all of the orbs, and I'll track you and that dragon down. And mark my words, there will be no mercy."

Screwy didn't even flinch. With an elegant flick of his wing he reached into the pocket of his overalls and withdrew a shimmering green sphere. Ripto's pupils shrank.

"Where did you get that?" he demanded.

"Spyro gave it to me last night," he said, still grinning, "And I forgot to give it back. Still, at least it means I can prove I have more power than you."

"Give it to me!" Ripto roared, "The power of the orbs is wasted on you. Give it to me right now or I'll make you suffer even more once I've returned!"

Screwy laughed and threw the orb up, catching it in mid-air before sliding his foot back and assuming a pitcher's stance.

"As you wish."

He threw the orb at Ripto. He reached up to grab it, but his spindly arms meant it flew over his head and struck the chain behind him. Ripto opened his mouth to hurl more abuse at Screwy, but before the words could come he felt the chain tremble. A tremble which tugged the hook backwards and tore through his cape and sent him falling into the lava below. He didn't even have time to scream before he hit the lake, and sank with nothing more than a small splash and a ripple in the surface as the lava digested its meal.

"Oops," Screwy sneered as he watched the spot where Ripto landed fall still again, and with a laugh and a click of his heels he carried on home.

* * *

**Also, das ist das. :) Delayed is finally finished after five months of half-hearted work. Many thanks to those of you who've followed this story, and doubly so for those who've left me comments along the way - as I've said before, there's no fun in writing to what you think is an empty room. :)**

**Where from here? Well, I've rather enjoyed writing an arc rather than a OneShot for a change, so I may return to the format eventually, and I dare say this isn't the last we'll see of Screwy. ;) That said, now's the time for me to look over what I think is good and bad about what I've produced, and I feel I made Screwy too prominent in a story about Spyro. Naturally this starts a load of people screaming 'MARY SUE!/GARY STU!/SELF INSERT!' like socially-awkward banshees who don't seem to understand what those words mean, but hysteria aside I do think they have a point about placing a fan character so centrally to the story. Despite what I've said though I like the finished product as it fits my statement of intent when writing fanfic, and what more can I ask for than that? :D**

**Again, thanks for reading. I hope it gave you some form of pleasure no matter how small. ^^**


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